The Maid
by HowWonderfulLifeIs
Summary: Liz is one of the live-in maids at the Avenger's Tower, until she opens her big fat mouth in front of Mr. Stark and his associates.
1. An Introduction

Author's Note: This began as a childish whim, and will probably end as one. Please don't kill me!

~Prologue~

"Is it always such a simple process, getting promoted?"

Elizabeth Jenkins wasn't quite sure of the answer to the question she put to herself, but she did know that she liked it; having been the loyal, obedient little coffee girl for two years, she was more than happy to move up in the world. Mom and Dad were ecstatic, of course, and she was the envy of all the secretaries who had looked down their plastic-surgery-perfect noses at her when she walked into the room with her tray of coffee. And she had finally proved herself worthy to Ms. Potts, whose high opinion she valued greatly, even more than that of Mr. Stark himself.

"How lucky am I?"

Gazing into her mirror, Liz saw someone new and unfamiliar, someone lovely and bright and mature. Perhaps this was the person Mr. Stark had seen when he had decided she was meant for more than fetching refreshments. Her mousy-brown hair was tucked into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, with little tendrils floating around, and her makeup was actually on in full, rather than a miniscule smear of lip-gloss. The most welcome and unsettling change was that in her wardrobe, for gone were the days of the white apron and rolled-up sleeves; she found herself entranced by her own reflection in the modest green dress Ms. Potts had chosen for her. Its skirt was the sort you could spin in, and it took all of Liz's self control not to twirl in Ms. Potts's presence.

Pepper beamed as she watched Liz slip clumsily into a pair of black high-heels and smooth her skirt.

"You look just fine, Liz," she smiled, tucking a loose curl behind Liz's ear.

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," Liz said, desperately trying to keep her voice from rising an octave. Sadly, she was not successful, and Ms. Potts giggled. Feigning confidence, Liz followed Ms. Potts out of the room and into the hallway.

It was her first day of unimaginable stress, mayhem, and fun. Her first day of playing babysitter to a troupe of super-beings.

~Chapter One~

The day had begun as any other day would, with nothing to suggest that it would be special in any way; Liz's alarm had gone off, she'd dragged herself out of bed, had her morning tea, and put on the black-and-white cleaning-lady/coffee-girl uniform that she so despised. She had asked herself, as she did a hundred times each day, how on Earth she had become a maid. And then she had opened her door and entered the world of the Avengers Tower.

Liz had been employed as one of the many live-in maids of the Tower for two years following her graduation from college. Ms. Potts, God love her, conducted the interviews of all the staff, and Liz had been instantly struck by the elegance and grace with which Ms. Potts handled herself. Since the day she was hired, it had been Liz's aim to please Ms. Potts, and never to fall beneath her expectations. It greatly helped that she was gifted with a fine memory, a fair sense of organization, and a need to get things done speedily. Unfortunately, the jobs of cleaning and delivering refreshments did not exactly match Liz's ambitions for herself. She had never been sure precisely what she wanted to do, but surely she was better than being permanent hired-help.

On this particular morning Liz had the duty (and perhaps the good fortune) of cleaning the rooms of the Avengers who were present. They were never all there unless a real threat was identified, in which case those missing were called to be briefed at the Tower. Thankfully, this had not yet happened, as no threat was deemed as pressing as Loki, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had Agents Romanoff and Barton to handle lesser threats. That day only Mr. Rogers, Mr. Banner, and Mr. Stark himself were present, and the first two were known for being meticulously neat when it came to their rooms at the Tower. Mr. Stark's room would be a challenge, but one that Liz was up for, no need to worry. In no particular hurry, Liz hummed the latest obnoxiously catchy dance tune as she dragged her cart of cleaning supplies through the labyrinth of hallways that led to Mr. Rogers's room.

Before Liz could even knock, Mr. Rogers had flung the door open, obviously in a hurry, and he nearly plowed over her in his rush to get out the door. At the last second, he slammed on his figurative breaks, his baby-blue eyes widening as Liz fell when he bumped into her.

"Oh, gosh, Miss, I'm sorry," he babbled apologetically, as Liz propped herself up on her elbows, muttering about Mondays. The Captain offered a hand, which she gratefully accepted. When she was finally standing, she apologized for getting in his way, but he dismissed the apology, claiming that it was entirely his fault.

"It's what I get for rushing around like an idiot," he said, smiling wryly. "Were you here to clean?"

Liz nodded, and the Captain smiled with relief.

"Okay, good, because I need some shirts ironed, could you do that?"

At this, Liz shook her head, saying, "Three words, sir: 'Not my job.' I can tell Meg to come do that later, though, she works in the laundry room."

"Good, great… Oh, by the way, if you see Tony- ah, Mr. Stark- sometime today, do you think you could drop this by him?" Mr. Rogers handed her a folded piece of paper, and then ran off down the hallway, thanking her over his shoulder. The only thought in Liz's head was, "Why couldn't he just send an e-mail?" But she simply shrugged, and entered the room. Just as she thought; but for his dirty laundry pile in the corner, the room was already positively immaculate. At the most, all it needed was some dusting.

"Dust bunnies, beware," she smirked to herself.


	2. This is not part of the story

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this is NOT a new chapter! This is the notice of a contest I am having in regards to this story. During the course of this story, you will discover that all the Avengers are already romantically attached or simply not interested. Therefore, it is up to you, my loyal readers, to create for our dear Liz a love interest! Please leave your ideas in a review of this "Chapter." The contest ends August 16th. Thank you all so much!


	3. The Conference Room

Author's Note: Thank you, dear readers, for all the followings and favorites! I had no idea people would be so interested! All my thanks and love, and please, don't kill me for this ridiculousness.

~Chapter Two~

Cleaning Mr. Rogers's room was a breeze, and Dr. Banner's was even better, although that may have been due to the fact that he was hardly there; as long as he had his lab, he was perfectly content, and the maids were not permitted to enter any of the labs, so Liz did not have to worry about that. Unfortunately, her next project was Mr. Stark's room, and it was… Revolting. For such an intelligent man, he had little sense of organization, and Liz heaved a sigh as she gazed at the chaos that surrounded her. His clothes (and some clothes that were definitely not his) lay willy-nilly around her, and a myriad of papers buried anything else that may have been on his desk. A dry-erase board at one end of the room was covered in random scribbles, and she was sure that if she took the time to read some of them, she would not have understood any of it. Cursing under her breath, Liz began shoving the dirty clothes into the largest laundry bag she could find.

"And your little girlfriends couldn't take their own clothes home with them?" she muttered, knowing full well that Mr. Stark could not hear her complaints. Pair after pair of women's underpants appeared, and Liz found herself wondering if any of them belonged to her friend Laura, one of the kinder secretaries, whose admiration for Mr. Stark was no secret. Laura Flanagan had often been caught gawking when he passed by her desk, and Ms. Potts had scolded her for it, but she didn't really care what Ms. Potts thought. Hell, Laura didn't care what anyone thought about anything, and that was one of the things Liz admired in Laura, the complete confidence with which she carried herself. It was different from Ms. Potts's grace, or Mr. Stark's arrogance, a sort of self-assurance that was utterly irresistible. Mr. Stark had probably found that out for himself, Liz thought, when something very interesting caught her eye; Mr. Stark was a fairly small man, and in her hands was a pair of men's khakis that would better fit the biblical Goliath, or someone of that broadness. Liz's eyes widened as her thoughts jumped from the khakis in her hands to the little folded note Mr. Rogers had asked her to deliver. Thinking on the possible connection, Liz chuckled to herself, shoving the khakis into Mr. Rogers's laundry bag.

"Don't worry," she said to no one in particular, "I can keep a secret." The cleaning was much easier with such a sweet secret in mind.

By the time Liz had managed to render spotless every inch of Mr. Stark's room, she was exhausted, and it was nearly time to bring the coffee cart up to the conference room for Mr. Stark's meeting with the overdressed ninnies from Washington, D.C. Glancing at her watch anxiously, Liz darted from Mr. Stark's room down to what was lovingly referred to as the "Servants' Quarters", that she might deliver the laundry and fetch the coffee and still have the time to chat with some friends. After all, even a maid has a social life, she thought with a smirk.

In the laundry rooms, Liz was glad to find that Megan was on duty. Megan Riley was one of the people near and dear to Liz's heart, and thankfully they got to see each other quite often.

"Hiya, Meg," she said, throwing down the sacks of laundry for each of the gentlemen. "Rogers wants his shirts ironed, and, oh, you won't BELIEVE what I found in Mr. Stark's room!"

Megan leaned forward in mock fascination, drawling, "Oh, do tell!"

Liz related the story of the note and the khakis, and soon the two women were giggling and speculating as to the content of Mr. Rogers's note, and whether or not it could be assumed that it was a love note of some kind. Neither dared to open it, of course; that would have broken every rule of basic decency and employer-employee trust. After sharing a few more choice pieces of gossip, Liz departed for the kitchens to collect the coffee cart. There, Bella greeted her with the cart and her own pieces of gossip, mostly in regards to a particularly handsome British celebrity Mr. Stark was inviting to spend the weekend in the Tower. Isabella Campbell, chef extraordinaire, was the person Liz trusted the most out of all her coworkers, as she was usually the wisest and most sound of judgment; however, she was also very merry, a dancer, prancer, and loon who lived her life as though nobody was watching. She was very well known for slipping compromising substances into the coffee, but only in jest; Mr. Stark himself had laughed and given her the okay to continue the pranks. However, she knew better than to spike the coffee at such a critical meeting, and promised Liz nothing had been placed in there that might embarrass their employer. After a hug and some parting shots of gossip, Liz departed with her coffee cart, making a futile attempt to smooth down her hopelessly tangled hair as she made her way to the conference room.

Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts sat side by side at the end of the long, gleaming conference table, wearing matching expressions of indignation and annoyance. If Liz had been correctly informed, these gentlemen were trying their hardest to get their hands on the Iron Man technology, just as they had many times before. Well, she wondered, what made them think they would be successful this time? The room positively reeked of hostility, and Liz began making mental bets with herself as to how long the meeting would go without someone shouting. Among these bigwigs, there was one she found herself taking an instant dislike to; he was one of the younger ones, probably thirty-five at the oldest, with an self-satisfied sneer that could curdle milk. She'd made a mental note to listen very carefully to whatever he had to say, just so she could contradict his arguments, at least in her head.

"Mr. Stark," the young one drawled, "you cannot claim that there is anything special about you; take away the armor, there is no Iron Man. I do not see why you claim to have this bond with the suit, and why you continually fail to see it for what it is, which is a weapon. What right do you have to keep this from the military?"

Liz honestly did not think about the possible consequences of what she did next, as it was simply a reaction to his idiotic comments; she snorted. Apparently, the noise was a little too loud, because the sneering guy turned around to face her as she placed a cup of coffee before the man two seats down from him. He raised one eyebrow, his greedily glistening eyes narrowing as he looked her up and down.

"Do you have a problem, Miss?" he said, feigning some sort of cordiality and sounding perfectly condescending. Liz swallowed, wishing that she could sink through the floor and never be heard from again. Her face tightened, and when she closed her eyes, she could practically feel his satisfaction leaking from his sneering mouth.

"My goodness," he chuckled, speaking to Mr. Stark, but still facing her, "that was a quick switch, wasn't it, Mr. Stark? Are your maids usually so vocal?"

Mr. Stark was about to speak, looking rather put out, but Liz felt a little red demon hopping into her mouth; she was going to wipe that stupid smirk off of his too-well-groomed face, just watch…

"Well, yeah, we can speak too."

If the room was heading towards shouting before, it was now heading rapidly in the opposite direction, and all the bigwigs had turned, mouths agape, to face Liz; thankfully, she didn't even see them, focusing all of her energies of Mr. Sneer.

"And I do have something to say, sir, I don't care who you are, but you don't have your facts straight! Iron Man can't be accomplished without Mr. Stark's personality! It's true, without the suit, he's just a guy, but if you put somebody else in that suit, I swear to God, not one of them could do what he did during the Battle of New York. Not one. It takes a person with a great deal of courage, or maybe stupidity, I don't know, to give himself up like that. You morons might not get it, but you don't want the suit, you want the persona! I hope you're not really the people who are supposed to be running our country, because if so, I'm not feeling too good about our future."

And what she did next, Liz knew she would regret later, but she did not care in the least; she took one of the remaining cups of coffee off of the cart, acting as though she was about to place it on the table in front of him, and dropped it, spoiling his perfect suit. Mr. Sneer gaped at his lap, and then turned to face her, a look of absolute fury on his stupid face. Liz just smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner, apologized, and took the cup from his lap.

"I am so, so sorry, sir, let me take that for you…"

Suddenly, there was the sound of clapping coming from Mr. Stark's end of the table, and when Liz looked up, there he was, standing and clapping, a merry grin on his face. He was laughing, and he began to make his was around the table, coming closer and closer; Liz found a strange lack of fear as he approached, as she was normally quite timid around her employers.

"Okay, that, that was just perfect," he boomed, tears streaming down his cheeks from the laughter. "That was unbelievable! I like you, whoever you are, thanks for helping me out, I've never heard it better. You hear? I like this kid!" he cried out to anyone in the room who would listen. Looking around, Liz saw Ms. Potts roll her eyes and smirk, but when they made eye contact, Ms. Potts gave her an encouraging wink. Everything began to hit home at that moment; I'm not fired, she thought, I'm safe…

The next few minutes passed in a blur as Mr. Stark made an appointment for her to meet him in his office later that evening, in hopes that they could discuss a promotion. When Liz left the conference room, she felt herself suddenly lift, as if she could fly, and she ran as fast as she could to find her friends; boy, did she have news for them!


	4. What just happened?

Author's Note: Again, thank you all so much for all the positive feedback and entries for the contest! I am very pleased to announce that the Ginger Midget's character has won! I love you all and, in my insane gratitude, I am dispatching my army of mini-Lokis to love on you! Tee-hee! (You have all been Loki'd! Can you tell I've gone bonkers?)

Assuming that until the meeting with Mr. Stark, she was off duty, Liz went back to her room and began texting anyone and everyone she could think of. In a matter of minutes, Bella, Megan, and Laura were all gathered and seated on her bed, babbling all at once and feverishly questioning her, each hoping to hear a different part of the story; Bella wanted to know exactly what she said to upset Mr. Sneer, Megan wanted to hear about the coffee idea, and Laura wanted to know if she had flirted with Mr. Stark. Once the whole story was out, Liz was smothered with hugs and other such friendly, feminine nonsense. Everyone was bursting with excitement, most especially Bella, who planned to put plenty of whiskey in Mr. Stark's omelet the next morning as an act of gratitude for showering his favor upon a lowly mortal such as Liz. Even though it was early in the day for a drink, Liz felt it was appropriate to pull out a bottle of wine she had been saving for her birthday, that they all might enjoy themselves thoroughly on what would hopefully be her last day as a maid. After a quick drink, Meg and Laura departed to return to whatever meaningless tasks they had been occupied by before the texts, but Bella remained behind.

"You've got to promise you're not going to forget us once you get up there, dear," Bella said, smiling as she hugged Liz. "I get the feeling you're going to be pretty busy, but you have to remember, you have to make time for you, no matter how much of a crazy workaholic you are."

Liz found herself squeezing Bella as hard as she possibly could, and she did not wish to admit to herself why; that she had worried about exactly what Bella spoke of, losing her time and freedom and friendships to whatever Mr. Stark had in store for her.

"Bella, I want you to be there, at the meeting," she murmured, finding herself in a strangely serious frame of mind. She could easily guess that Bella was probably frowning in concern at her tone, and so she attempted to lighten the mood, adding, "Just to hold my hand and keep me from peeing my pants in fright, dearie," with a grin. There was a light smattering of awkward giggles as they both agreed that Bella would be present, and then Bella excused herself, leaving Liz with one last hug and a few choice words of encouragement. However, despite all the warm, friendly support, Liz still felt a tad jittery, and she downed another glass of wine to calm her nerves. Everything seemed to be coming at her at the pace of a locomotive, and she wished she could take it all in stride, but she felt unease and confusion nipping at her heels; she was getting a headache from the dizzying thoughts whirling around in her head, and so she turned the lights off and laid down for awhile, for once getting the mid-afternoon nap she had craved since the beginning of her college career.

It was two in the morning when she received the text; she'd left her phone in her apron pocket, and she hadn't taken the apron off before going to sleep. Heck, she hadn't even bothered to take her shoes off, she'd been such a nervous wreck! Feeling the buzzing in her pocket, she shifted in bed to take out her phone, and when she saw the sender's name and number, her eyes grew wide with a sudden renewal of that strange mixture of gratitude and anxiety.

"Hey," it read, "if you're ready to come to the office, now's a good time. Sorry, was really busy earlier with stuff-" With Steve, she thought- "but you can come now, Pepper's ready, I'm ready, I just hope you are! TTYL, Tony." It unnerved Liz a bit to see the text so casually signed "Tony" rather than the formal and typical "Mr. Stark", but soon other thoughts caused her far greater distress; she wasn't ready at all! She hadn't even thought to set her alarm before lying down, and now she was caught entirely off guard, a poorly-dressed . Suddenly, another text popped up, this one from Bella.

"Sweetie, I'm guessing you're freaking out right about now, so I'm telling you now, DON'T WORRY. I'm already up here with Mr. Stark, you're fine in whatever you're in, just get up here, lovey!"

Liz found herself relaxing the teensiest bit, and a slight smile worked its way onto her face as her friend's concern warmed her to her core; she felt as though a bit of weight had been lifted from her, and it was enough to significantly boost her confidence, the knowledge that someone so dear was waiting there to witness such a monumental change of fortunes. After taking several deep breaths through her nose, Liz took about five minutes to tame her tangled locks, brush her teeth, reapply her (almost non-existent) makeup, and rub the sleep out of her eyes before slipping on her shoes and finally leaving her room. Two o'clock in the morning was the perfect time to move up in the world.


End file.
